Poem – 12 March 1987

It is 35 years today since Angela & I became a couple.

I reach for memories of that vital day,
for memories; and a few scintilla spark:
crisp air, a crowded platform, Co-op pears,
ice-cream (mint choc chip) spooned, benched in The Parks,
you sitting on the bed, our eyes at play,
slabs of oozing garlic bread, the stairs
inside The Cape to escape the noise and talk
and share our first, our woozy Pilsner kiss,
and you not laughing when I chanced a dance,
and linking arms, and staggering feet to walk
back past The Plain. Yet many things I miss
with thirty-five years passed, but not the chance
we took that led us to be us today.

Poem: At the border

A poem for TweetTuesday – an initiative of Black Bough Poetry promoting the sharing of #imagist and imagistic #poetry of fewer than 20 lines.

At the border
cameras kidnap
a crumpled face.
We drink her tears,
soften our hearts. 

In the bunker,
the glass-shattered apartment,
the daylight hotel room,
the blue-screen-lit settee,
conscript lads,
abusive lags,
pimp gangs,
comfortable dads,
conspire in the darkest arts.